


for her

by deceptivelycomplex3925



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Drabble, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-30 00:56:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3917176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deceptivelycomplex3925/pseuds/deceptivelycomplex3925
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’s gone. Because of her. For her. And she’d let her.</p><p>“No,” she hears herself whisper, head shaking back and forth.</p><p>No, no, no.</p>
            </blockquote>





	for her

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this quickly one night a few weeks ago. I fixed a few things and decided that tonight was a very apt one to post it. It's super short and I'm going to go to sleep now and perhaps when I wake up I'll feel less...bitter. 
> 
> Wishful thinking and all that jazz, yeah?

She’d been with him. With Robin. She’d been on a walk under the moonlight. She’d been laughing. She’d been _happy_.

She’d been distracted.

She’d tried to stop her. She’d told her no, she’d locked eyes with her. Blue-green brimming with tears, glimmering and fierce.

“You worked too hard to have your happiness destroyed,” she’d said.

Her stomach churns, bile rising up in her throat, tears pricking at her eyes, Robin’s arms around her feeling like chains. Heavy, heavy chains.

She squirms away from him, pushing roughly against his forearms when they tighten around her middle.

When he continues to hold her firmly, she feels magic tingle at the tips of her fingers, desperation, disbelief, _anger_ suffocating her. His _arms_ suffocating her.

She shoves at him again – wondering why she had ran to him in the first place – this one infused with magic, almost involuntary, and she stumbles forward with the quick release of his embrace.

Her eyes haven’t left the spot where Emma had been just seconds before, the dagger now laying on the pavement like something taunting, ominous.

She feels her lips forming the syllables of Emma’s name, feels her heart seize at the way it feels almost like a betrayal on her tongue. A betrayal on her part. She feels wrong saying her name. Almost like she doesn’t have the right.

_There has to be another way!_

_There isn’t_.

Her knees buckle at the weight of it. The weight of the whisper. Emma’s voice inside her head. The weight of the _realization_.

She’s _gone_. Because of her. _For_ her. And she’d _let_ her.

“ _No_ ,” she hears herself whisper, head shaking back and forth.

No, no, _no_.

She’d been right there. She’d been _right_ there.

She should have done something, told her no again. Told her no again and _meant_ it. Kept Emma away.

Hands grip at her upper arms and she feels her stomach lurch and her skin crawl beneath the warmth. _His_ warmth.

She can’t even look at him right now.

She’s _gone_.

She dips away, jerks to the side, her palm breaking her fall with the harshness of the movement. She feels her skin grate against the pavement, feels the sting of it, _revels_ in it. Wants _more_ of it.

She stares at the dagger, Emma’s name engraved in it, the glint from the streetlights making it seem alive, _jeering_.

She doesn’t know if Robin’s still standing behind her or not. She doesn’t know if anyone is still around her or not.

She’s _gone_. Because of her. _For_ her.

 _Emma_.

The tears fall. They fall and fall and fall and her heart isn’t seizing anymore it’s tearing. Its stitching coming undone. She should have told her to stay away. It should have been her.

“Mom?” Henry. Her son. _Their_ son. Emma’s son. Emma was her son’s _mother_.

 _Is_ , her mind hisses angrily. _Is_.

 _Was_ , something whispers back.

She feels a tentative hand atop her thigh and her bleary eyes flicker to meet hazel. Hazel wrought with _so much_ sorrow and it _cuts_. It yanks at her stitches, it _aches_.

“Henry,” she chokes out, “Henry,” she shakes her head again, bottom lip trembling, “I’m _so_ sorry.”

She feels a squeeze at her thigh and then she has two armfuls of her son. _Their_ son. He buries his face in her hair and she hears him sniffle, feels him shudder with a soundless cry.

“We’ll get her back, Mom,” he whispers into her hair, fierce, determined.

So like his other mother.

 _Emma_.

Something leaves her throat then; pours out of her heart, the mangled mess of knotted stitching and jagged tissue, and travels right up through her esophagus and out of her mouth.

It’s a sob. Something heaving and raw and it _aches_.

Henry, her little prince, her son, _their_ son, just holds her tight, tight, tight and it doesn’t feel like shackles around her wrists, doesn’t feel like a hand over her mouth and nose, doesn’t feel like _too much, too much, too much_ or _wrong, wrong, wrong_.

It feels like salvation, like coming home, like safety. It feels strong and steady.

 _Our son_.

“We’ll get her back,” he says again, voice breaking this time, wobbly with his tears. She clutches at his back, nails digging, because he’s here. He’s _here_. Her little prince. Her son. _Their_ son.

She doesn’t know if anyone’s still around her. She doesn’t know if Robin’s still standing behind her.

She knows her son is in her arms. _Their_ son.

She knows he’s strong and determined and brave. Just like his mother.

She just doesn’t know if she can believe his words.

 _Emma_ , her mind repeats over and over again.

_You worked too hard to have your happiness destroyed._

Her eyes find the dagger again, heart spilling out onto her ribs, staining them.

She should have let it take her. It should have been her.

Because she’s gone now. Because of her. _For_ her.


End file.
